


Hawkward

by the_genderman



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (or at least Hard of Hearing), Awkwardness, Birds, Coffee, Deaf Clint Barton, Ducks, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Misunderstandings, mash-up between comics Clint and MCU Clint, some brief angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 01:30:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15984713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_genderman/pseuds/the_genderman
Summary: It all starts with coffee. And who knew an innocent question like "What's your favorite bird?" could have such an effect?





	Hawkward

**Author's Note:**

> I joke on the pumpkin spice latte, but I like it, and if it’s your thing, then it’s your thing. Also, this fic is set in the MCU, but Clint is a sort of mash-up between MCU Clint and comics Clint (who I have learned about primarily from other people’s Tumblr posts and the like one Matt Fraction Hawkeye comic I found at my library). In this fic, he’s totally deaf in one ear and has a hearing aid in the other. He lip reads and signs when he knows the other person signs, too. Also, I have no idea what format the DC Metro pass takes, so I’m playing fast and loose with that.

_No one should ever have to leave the house before coffee_ , Clint thought to himself as he stood in line at Starbucks, listening to some kid ask when the Pumpkin Spice Latte was gonna be back. It was July. All he wanted was the biggest basic coffee they could sell him, and then after work he could worry about trying to fix his coffee maker. It would probably be easier to just buy a new one, but when it came to coffee, he wasn’t going to admit defeat quite so easily. But in the meantime, here he was, still in line at Starbucks. Oh well, at least the guy in front of him was nice to look at.

\-----------------

Standing in the slow-moving line, Sam stared up at the menu, running over all the different drink options. He’d won a Starbucks gift card in the Fourth of July office raffle, which meant he’d actually have to set foot inside a Starbucks. It wasn’t that he had anything _against_ the place, but he usually preferred the terrible (but _free_ ) coffee at work, hence his unfamiliarity with the menu. Ok, coffee was coffee, but he was pretty sure he didn’t need a Frappuccino at 7:30 in the morning. He’d probably just go with an Americano—that was simple and cheap. He wasn’t entirely sure what a pumpkin spice latte was, but he was pretty sure he didn’t want to become a Starbucks regular if it meant getting stuck in line behind someone who just _can’t believe that it isn’t pumpkin spice season yet, please, I know you‘ve got to have some back there, I need my PSL._

Sam wasn’t sure if the crawling feeling on the back of his neck was due to his growing impatience with the Pumpkin Spice Kid, or if someone was watching him. Honestly, it could be both. He’d gotten a lot better with the anxiety in crowds, but he still wasn’t a huge fan of being stared at by strangers. He turned to the side under the guise of examining a bag of Café Verona in the impulse buy baskets bracketing the line. 

The guy behind him looked tired and vaguely familiar, like maybe Sam had seen him somewhere around town before. He was average height with sandy blond hair and a suit he looked like he’d rather not be wearing. His tie was bright purple with yellow dogs on it. His pants were just a little too short for convention, and his socks were just as loud as his tie. Every so often he’d sneak a _look_ over at Sam.

And, alright, maybe Sam didn’t mind _too_ much having this particular guy staring at him.

\------------------------------------------------

Two days later, Clint was back in the morning Starbucks line. He _thought_ he’d fixed his coffee maker, but apparently not. This morning when he flipped the switch, instead of beginning to brew, the water reservoir decided to make like a fountain and spray him in the face. But hey, at least the cute guy from before was back again. Clint tried to look like he wasn’t staring as he surreptitiously ogled the man.

He was clearly a runner; even bland work slacks couldn’t disguise a butt like that. Plain slacks and a button shirt, he probably had an office job where he didn’t have to wear a _suit_. Ran to keep fit or to stave off the boredom of paperwork. Or both, Clint mused as he totally wasn’t staring at Mr. Hot Office Job Runner Dude as he reached the register to give his order. Clint grumbled a little to himself that his one semi-decent ear couldn’t quite pick up what Mr. Hot Office Job Runner Dude was saying, and that he was facing away from him so he couldn’t lip read, either. Oh well, it wasn’t likely he’d see him again once he got his new coffee maker purchased and installed, so what did it matter if he knew what his favorite style of coffee was?

\------------------

Sam _knew_ he knew this guy from somewhere. He lingered at the creamer station slowly stirring half-and-half and two sugars into his coffee even though he usually took it black and unsweetened, listening as Minor Rebellion Suit Dude ordered his trenta dark roast. At least he was easy on the eyes while Sam tried to figure out who he was. Well, _most_ of him was easy on the eyes. Today’s tie was neon orange with turquoise polka dots.

\-------------------------------------------------

Clint was starting to believe he was cursed. He had pulled the carafe out to pour his first cup of coffee and promptly dropped it on the floor, shattering it and splattering hot coffee all over his floor, shoes, socks, and pants. Sure, he could buy a new carafe, but in the meantime he had to go change, he had lost an entire pot of fresh coffee, and it looked like he was headed back to Starbucks. His lucky parakeet tie wasn’t proving very lucky today, that was for sure.

\---------------

Sam was sitting in one of the armchairs by the door, sipping his Americano, and pondering how long it was going to take to spend the rest of his gift card when Minor Rebellion Suit Dude walked in. His tie today was pink, patterned with little green budgies. Sam watched as Minor Rebellion Suit Dude waited in line, finally made it up to the counter, and briefly panicked, patting his pockets.

“Aw, wallet, no,” Minor Rebellion Suit Dude said, looking absolutely deflated. “Uh, I guess I left it at home. Cancel that order.”

Sam was on his feet in a flash, gift card in hand. “You seem like the kind of guy who needs his morning coffee. This one’s on me,” he said, holding the card out.

“Hey, thanks,” Minor Rebellion Suit Dude said, accepting the offer. “Yeah, I do really need my coffee to function. Oh yeah, my name’s Clint.”

“Nice to meet you Clint, I’m Sam,” Sam said, following him as he moved over to the pick-up counter. Sam’s eyes widened as the realization hit him. “Wait, Clint as in—”

Clint met Sam’s eyes and raised his finger to his lips in a gesture of ‘shh.’

Sam nodded and said nothing more.

Clint’s coffee arrived. He accepted it before the barista even had a chance to set it down, took a sip, and promptly cursed under his breath at how hot it was. 

“Yeah. Uh, you wanna grab your coffee and walk and talk? I don’t wanna leave you hanging, but I gotta get to work. And as long as you stay on my good ear, I’ll be fine,” Clint replied before things got too awkward. 

“Good ear?” Sam asked.

“Well, relatively speaking,” Clint said. “I’m totally deaf in my left ear, got a hearing aid in the right. So if you want me to understand what you’re saying, you’d better stay right.”

“Sure, I can do that,” Sam replied, grabbing his things. “And if you work where I think you work, we’re on the same Metro line, but my stop’s a bit earlier. I’m at the VA.”

“VA, huh? Sounds important. I’m all the way on the other side of the river, as you may have guessed,” Clint said, fighting the urge to sip at his still too-hot coffee again.

“It’s nothing fancy, but they helped me when I got back, so I’m repaying them,” Sam shrugged, holding the door for Clint, who nodded his thanks.

“Can I ask what branch you were?”

“Air Force. Pararescue. I mean it’s not _your_ job, but I liked what I did, for the most part.”

“Pararescue? Get outta here, don’t sell yourself short. Now I just feel inadequate,” Clint said with a self-deprecating laugh as soon as they made it out onto the street. “Contrary to what you may have heard about my job, it’s not all glitz and glamor and fighting aliens. Most of the day-to-day stuff for me is paperwork and meetings and suits. And I _hate_ suits. Possibly more than I hate meetings.”

“Really? I never would have guessed.” There was something about Clint that disarmed some of Sam’s anxiety enough to start joking with him, even though he was basically still a complete stranger. Sure, Sam knew about him from what he’d read, what he’d seen on TV, but none of that really captured the personality Sam was starting to see.

“What gave it away?” Clint grinned.

“Oh, I dunno, maybe the bright pink and green budgie tie?” Sam grinned back.

“Ties are the worst. If I gotta wear one, I’m gonna make it a fun one,” Clint said, sipping his coffee. Finding it finally cool enough to drink, he tipped it back and took a big gulp. “Ah, that’s the stuff.”

Sam nodded and sipped his coffee a little more slowly, watching as Clint practically chugged his down as they walked. He wasn’t what you called to mind when asked to picture an Avenger, but Sam liked the guy already. He didn’t have Iron Man’s charisma or Captain America’s symbolism, but he had something else a little more difficult to define. He wasn’t a superspy, a supersoldier, a billionaire tech genius, an alien god, or a nearly invincible rage monster, he was just a dude with arrows who wanted to do right by the world. And who _really_ needed his morning coffee to get there. Rough estimate, Clint finished his trenta (aka, the big-ass size) coffee in about three minutes, whereas Sam was still working on his much smaller cup.

“You good there?” Sam asked when Clint finally dropped the cup back and took a deep breath.

“Yep, I’m good,” Clint replied. “Coffee is life, or something like that. Plus, not supposed to drink on the Metro.”

“Speaking of the Metro, is your pass in your wallet or on your keys?” Sam asked. He was definitely willing buy Clint a train ticket if it meant they could keep chatting for a bit longer.

“Ooh, yeah, Metro pass. Keys, I think,” Clint said, reaching into his pocket and fishing around. He pulled his keys out and dangled them out by his pass. “Yep, keys. There it is.”

“That’s good,” Sam said. He glanced down at his coffee, wondering if he’d have time to finish it before they got on the train.

“If you don’t want the rest of that,” Clint said, jabbing his thumb towards Sam’s coffee cup, “I don’t have a problem finishing it for you.”

“Alright, sure. I can get more at work.” Sam made a skeptical face, but passed the cup over to Clint who tipped it back without hesitation.

Clint exhaled with a satisfied sound as he finished Sam’s coffee. “That was good. Now what were we talking about?”

“Your tie,” Sam reminded him as the train arrived.

“Oh yeah. You like it?” Clint asked, plucking at his tie and looking down at it as they boarded.

“I like birds,” Sam replied, sitting down. Clint took the seat next to him. “Mostly hawks and falcons, but parrots are pretty cool, too. I’m lucky that they don’t make me wear ties to work, but if I had to, I’d probably go the same route as you.”

“Birds are good,” Clint said. “Yeah. I like birds. Also. I also like birds.”

“What’s your favorite bird?” Sam asked expectantly. Of course the guy code-named ‘Hawkeye’ would have a favorite bird, and now he was going to find out which one. “I think my all-time favorite has to be the Peregrine Falcon. One of the fastest birds in the world, found on every continent except Antarctica, survivors, really pretty, too. I mean, what’s not to love about them?”

Clint tilted his head and tapped behind his ear. Sam looked at him, trying to figure out what he was doing.

“Could you repeat that? Or, just, say anything, first thing that pops into your head,” Clint said, frowning a bit.

Slightly confused, Sam obliged his request. “Uh, ok. How’s this? Is this good?”

Clint tapped behind his ear again. “Yeah, ok. I can see your lips moving, but I’m not getting anything. The train sounds, maybe I could have just tuned them out, but I’m not hearing you. I think my hearing aid battery just died. You don’t sign, do you?”

Sam’s brow furrowed and he shook his head no. He wasn’t prepared for this. He’d been considering registering for ASL classes if he could find a community college that offered them at a time he could work with, but he hadn’t really put the effort into it yet. He knew some vets came back with hearing damage, he knew having that skill could help, but he hadn’t set aside any time yet. And now it was coming back to bite him. He held up his hand in a gesture he hoped conveyed “please wait a moment”, and fished his phone out of his pocket. He glanced up and Clint was still standing there, watching him. Sam opened his text convo screen and held up the phone for Clint to see.

“You want my number so you can text me?” Clint asked.

Sam nodded.

Alright, sure,” Clint said, reaching over to take Sam’s phone from him. He typed in his contact information, and handed it back. He pulled out his own phone and shot off a quick smile emoji. 

Sam’s phone pinged and he began typing a reply.

**Sam** : Do you have time to stop off at the VA with me before work? We probably have the kind of battery you need

Clint replied out loud. “Thanks, but nah. I got a bunch at my desk at S.H.I.E.L.D. I don’t wanna take something from somebody who needs it more than I do.”

**Sam** : Ok. Can I keep texting you later?

“Absolutely,” Clint replied with a grin and a double finger guns, still holding his phone. “I may not always be able to answer while at work, but I gave you my number so you could make good use of it.”

Sam’s stop was announced and the train began to slow. He quickly typed up another message.

**Sam** : This is my stop. I’ll text you later, thanks

“Oh, yeah, no problem,” Clint replied.

Sam stood up, climbed over Clint to the aisle, and waited for the doors to open. He turned back and gave Clint a quick wave as he stepped out of the train. Clint waved back.

\-------------------------------------------------------

Natasha looked up slowly from her computer as Clint knocked on the already open door and fell into her office.

“Tasha, help, what’s my favorite bird?” the words rushed out of Clint’s mouth as he caught himself mid-stumble.

“What’s your _what_ now?” Natasha replied. “Favorite bird? Did you forget your password reminder?”

“No, there’s a guy, and he likes birds, and I kind of lied about also liking birds, I mean I don’t not like them, but he sounds like he’s one of those kinds of guys who likes birds a lot and knows all sorts of things about them and probably owns binoculars for reasons that aren’t work related and now I have to pick a favorite bird,” Clint said, attempting to sit on Natasha’s filing cabinet, but eventually deciding against it.

“What I’m picking up is that you’re bad at flirting?” Natasha laughed. “Also, I have another chair if you’d like to sit.”

“Thanks,” Clint said, accepting the chair. “And I’m not bad at flirting, I’m just a little out of practice.”

“Oh yeah?” Natasha continued. “If you’re not bad at flirting, then what bird did you tell him when he asked?”

“I kind of pretended my hearing aid battery died and then it was his Metro stop,” Clint mumbled. “ _But_. I got his phone number.”

“Ok, so you’re not a _total_ disaster. I’ve got a meeting in ten; come on, walk with me and we’ll figure this out. We can even grab you another coffee on the way up,” Natasha said as she stood up, locked her computer, and grabbed one of the file folders Clint had almost sat on.

“Thanks Nat, you’re a lifesaver,” Clint replied, jumping up from his chair to follow Natasha out of her office.

“You owe me for this,” Natasha said, looking over her shoulder.

“Put it on the list, I know you’ve got one. I still don’t have a favorite bird yet,” Clint said, pulling up next to her as they walked.

“I’m working on it.” Natasha pulled out her phone and started tapping away at the screen. “Tell me more about him.”

“Well, he’s ex-Air Force, he works at the VA, he’s honest and kind and he bought me coffee when I forgot my wallet this morning. He’s cute, he likes birds, and I want to impress him.”

“What’s _his_ favorite bird?”

“Peregrine falcons. From how he said it, it sounded like he’d put a lot of thought into picking a favorite. So you can see why I couldn’t just pick a rando and fake it, right?” Clint said, trying to peer over Natasha’s shoulder at her phone.

After a few moments, she looked back up at Clint. “How about the Bateleur? Its name comes from the French for tumbler or tightrope walker.”

“The huh what now? Bachelor?”

“Ba-te-leur, not ba-che-lor.”

“Do I look fancy to you?”

“Alright. Not the Bateleur.”

Natasha continued to thumb at her phone as they reached the closest coffee machine and Clint punched in his order.

“Ooh, what about this?” Natasha said. “Northern Harrier.”

“The northern hairy what?” Clint replied, watching the coffee machine dispense his drink.

“I thought you said you lied about your hearing aid battery dying?” Natasha signed as soon as Clint was facing her again.

“I did. I can hear you, you can talk out loud, but I don’t really know birds, so I don’t know what phonemes I’m supposed to be listening for.”

“That’s fair,” Natasha said. “Here. I’ll show you my phone so you can see it, ok?”

“Yeah, I like that idea,” Clint said, sipping his coffee.

Natasha held her phone out so Clint could see the screen.

“Northern Harrier, _Circus hudsonius_? Pretty bird, but I think I’m detecting a theme here,” Clint said, side-eyeing Natasha.

“No more circus birds?” Natasha mock pouted. “ _Al_ right. Do you want to stick with hawks because of your codename?”

“Not really?” Clint admitted with a shrug. “I mean, they’re nice enough, but I don’t think I could fake being into a bird I don’t know much about.”

Natasha nodded. “Pigeons?”

“ _Really?_ ”

“They’re common enough and like, show pigeons are a thing.”

“No pigeons.”

“Ok, I’d like to keep helping you, but this is my stop, and really? I think this has to be something you figure out for yourself. Like you said, if you can’t fake being into a bird you don’t know anything about, then you’re gonna have to figure it out on your own,” Natasha said, putting a hand on Clint’s shoulder.

Clint frowned and gave her his best puppy eyes.

“Nope, not working,” Natasha laughed. “I think you gotta figure this out yourself.”

Clint watched her walk into the meeting room and take her seat before turning to head back down to his own office. She was right, but it didn’t leave him any closer to being able to pick a favorite bird.

\----------------------------------------------------

Some paperwork two meetings, lunch, a rookie agent introductory class, more paperwork, and another coffee break later, Clint had still not figured out his favorite bird. He had set himself a deadline for the end of the work day so he could text Sam back with an answer at a reasonable time and not sound like a total flake. Alright, so he had some flaky tendencies, but he was working on that, ok? He looked at his phone again like it would magically be able to choose for him before putting the screen back to sleep and shoving it in his locker. One more training session today before he could go home. One more training session before he might have to give up and text Sam to tell him he was just trying to impress him while flirting and he didn’t _actually_ have a favorite bird and hope he wouldn’t take it badly. He pulled out his quiver, made sure it was set for the safety training arrows, and changed into his gear.

\------------------

“Aw, man, I’m sorry Cap, my aim was way off on that one,” Clint said as he quickly lowered himself back down from the rafters of the training room. He had been trying to give Steve a good challenge, a quick series of arrows to block with his shield, but the last one had gone a little low and a little wide, catching Steve on the ankle and causing him to stumble.

“No, no, you’re fine,” Steve replied. “I missed. It was your job to make me work for it, and you succeeded. And it’s not bad, I heal right up.”

“But I was aiming up by your shoulder, there’s no reason I should’ve missed that badly,” Clint apologized again, picking up his arrow and squinting at it, like maybe it had been the arrow’s fault. (It wasn’t.)

“Don’t worry about it, everyone misses once in a while,” Steve replied. “I’m already pretty good at knowing when to duck, and I should probably work more on protecting my legs.”

_Duck. Of course._

“Hey, thanks,” Clint said, giving Steve a smile and a finger gun.

“No problem,” Steve smiled back. “That’s what training’s for.”

“Yeah, training, yep. See you tomorrow,” Clint called over his shoulder as he began collecting his arrows. 

Steve gave a little wave and disappeared into the locker room.

Clint started humming a little to himself. Ducks are birds. He knows what a duck is. There are a lot of ducks. He could easily just say he likes ducks in general because they’re waddly and they quack. Lots of people like ducks. After he got cleaned up and changed back into his street clothes, he could text Sam and pretend like he wasn’t low-key freaking out all day over this decision. 

Yeah. Things were looking up.

\-------------------------------------------

Sam was still at his computer finishing up some paperwork that _finally_ got turned back in so he could get it resubmitted before the deadline when his phone buzzed twice. He fished it out of his pocket, wondering if it was something urgent and work related or if maybe Clint was texting him back.

It was Clint. He smiled and opened the text convo. His phone buzzed again and another message popped up. Apparently Clint was a serial texter.

**Clint** : Off work Finland its been a day

**Clint** : And to answer your question I like ducks

**Clint** : I know they’re not fancy like peregrine falcons but they quack and I Luke them

Sam actually laughed out loud. At Clint’s choice of bird, not the overzealous Autocorrect. Ducks. That was unexpected, but cute. He started typing a reply.

**Sam** : Ducks, huh? Not a hawk like your superhero name? And I assume you got your battery changed ok?

**Clint** : Yep good as news

**Clint** : Well not new but back to baseline

**Clint** : You feel me right?

**Sam** : Don’t worry, I gotcha

Clint was a bit of a mess, especially for an Avenger, but he was an endearing mess. And Sam wanted to get to know him better. They’d already hit things off pretty well this morning—was it really only this morning?—and Sam wanted more. Ever since coming back from Afghanistan, he’d been hiding parts of himself, keeping people at arm’s length. Even after he’d realized what he was doing, he just… kept doing it. It was easy. Don’t let anyone get too close, and you can’t get hurt again. Sam just got this feeling that Clint wouldn’t hurt him. That Clint went far deeper under the surface than he’d let most people see. A little bit like him, maybe. Maybe they could both open up to each other.

Sam realized he’d been holding his breath, thumb hovering over the little keyboard on his phone’s screen. Composing a message in his head that he hoped he wouldn’t be too afraid to send. 

**Sam** : Are you free this Saturday? I was wondering if you might want to get coffee and take a walk around Constitution Gardens. We can go see some ducks :)

**Clint** : Heck yes coffee and ducks sounds good

**Sam** : How early is too early for you? You don’t seem like a morning person except when forced to be

**Clint** : True

**Clint** : You however do seen like a morning person

**Clint** : Compromise?

**Clint** : Maybe meet for coffee at 930 then walk after? 

**Sam** : I can do that. I still have money on that Starbucks card, are you ok with the E St NW Starbucks?

**Clint** : All coffee is good coffee

**Clint** : I well see you then :)

**Sam** : Looking forward to it :)

Sam waited a few moments longer before tucking his phone back into his pocket. He sighed and turned back to his computer. Paperwork was important, but not nearly as interesting as a date. Not even as interesting as admitting that yeah, this might actually count as a date. Jeez, when had he last gone on an actual date? Well, that was changing now. Sam smiled as he found his place again in the document. He was going on a _date_ this Saturday. There was something nagging at the back of his mind, but it was probably just nerves and rust. He’d either figure it out or get over it. After all, he had a date to plan for.

\--------------------------------------------

Friday night and Sam was almost asleep. That was when it tended to happen. When his defenses were lowest and the little parts of his mind that he tried to keep quiet would come alive. _What if…_ that little voice at the back of his mind asked. _What if Clint’s not gonna show? What if he’s too self-conscious to tell you that it’s all a misunderstanding and he doesn’t actually want to date you? You know he couldn’t have answered the favorite bird question if his hearing aid battery had_ actually _died. He just didn’t want to answer because normal people don’t ask people they’re interested in what their favorite bird is. He only answered to be polite. He’s not gonna show. Why would he show up just to look at ducks? Adults don’t plan dates around looking at ducks._

Sam rolled over and pressed his pillow over top of his head like it could muffle his self-doubts. No. Clint wouldn’t do that, he’s a good man. _He’s a stranger. You don’t know him_. I’m good at reading people. He wouldn’t. He’ll show up. I’m going. What’s the worst that could happen? _You could look like a total weirdo alone in the park with a bag of peas_. People feed ducks. It happens. And if anyone asks about the peas, I can tell them it’s because bread is bad for ducks, but peas are healthy for them. _Whatever. He won’t show. You’ll see_. Yes he will, and I’m not gonna argue with myself anymore. I’m going to sleep.

\--------------------------------------------

_Stop worrying, it’s not even 9:30 yet_ , Sam told himself as he looked down at his watch again. 9:27 am. He had texted Clint to confirm and he had responded in the affirmative. Excited, even, judging by the additional typos in his texts. _But that could also be because he’s tired. He said he’s not a morning person_. Sam scooted further down into his chair and shoved his arm down between his side and the chair’s armrest. He wasn’t gonna keep staring at his watch. Either Clint would show or he wouldn’t. Worrying wouldn’t help.

People came and went. Coffees were brewed and drunk. Two more patrons asked about the Pumpkin Spice Latte. And still Clint hadn’t arrived. Sam gave in and snuck a glance at his watch. 9:51 am. _Told you he didn’t want to see you_. Sam pushed that thought back and stood up to get in line. If Clint showed, then he’d have his coffee already, and no harm done. If he _didn’t_ show, then he’d at least have gotten a coffee for his time.

Sam looked up at the menu, deciding if he wanted just another Americano, or if he wanted to mix things up a little. Maybe he’d get a chai tea instead. 

“Oh, thank goodness, you’re still here.”

That sounded like Clint’s voice. Sam turned around to see.

It was Clint. Slightly out of breath and looking a lot more casual than usual in a slightly wrinkled t-shirt and gym shorts, but he was here.

“I just wanna say I’m so sorry I’m late,” Clint began. “My brother called me to complain about something, I dunno what specifically, he just kinda complains about stuff, and then that conversation went on entirely too long, and by the time I realized what time it was and that I should probably text you to let you know what was up, I dropped my phone in the toilet and it died. So I hoofed it over, hoping maybe you’d still be here, finishing your drink or something.”

“Uh,” Sam managed.

“And I totally understand, I woulda thought I’d flaked, too. I’m glad you didn’t bail on me. So, uh, we’re still on to see ducks after this?” Clint said, rubbing his neck absently and giving Sam a nervous smile.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Sam replied. He smiled back, letting Clint know he was fine. Clint was already worried enough about having been late, no need to make it worse for him. “We can grab our coffees and keep talking on the walk over to the park. Does that sound good?”

“Sounds perfect. I remembered my wallet today,” Clint grinned. “Lemme buy your drink to make up for being late?”

“If you insist,” Sam said with a little laugh.

\--------------

“So, I brought peas,” Sam said, holding up a bag of basic frozen peas as they walked towards Constitution Gardens.

“Peas?” Clint asked. “Why peas? Are peas a post-walk health thing?”

“No, they’re for the ducks,” Sam answered. “You know how bread’s like candy to ducks; they love it, but it’s _so_ bad for them. So I’ll feed them peas instead.”

“Oh, huh.” Clint’s eyebrows jumped and he nodded. “So, I guess I have a confession to make.”

_Oh no, here it comes_ , Sam thought. Out loud he said “What kind of a confession?”

“Nothing bad, just, I guess I wasn’t totally honest with you,” Clint replied, looking down at his feet. “I don’t actually have a favorite bird. I mean, ducks are cool, I like how they waddle when they walk and how they’re all waterproof, but I don’t really know anything much about birds. I called myself Hawkeye because I was born in Iowa and I’ve got a wicked shot with a bow and arrow. I can’t tell a hawk from a falcon from an eagle. And, I, I wanted to impress you by saying I liked birds, too. And my hearing aid battery didn’t really die, I just didn’t have an answer and I didn’t want you to realize I was lying about knowing about birds. Which I guess I’m telling you now, but you understand? Maybe?”

“Oh, well, that’s…” Sam began. This was not what he had expected. “That’s kinda cute, actually.”

“Cute?”

“Yeah, you got so excited that you were like ‘yes, I like birds, too,’ and then, even though you didn’t know much about birds, you followed through and found a favorite anyway.”

“Huh, yeah, that’s a nice way of looking at it,” Clint said. “Thanks. And hey, maybe you can teach me some more things about birds. Like, I didn’t know bread was duck candy. That’s good to know.”

“Oh, stick around me long enough and you’ll learn some bird facts,” Sam laughed, elbowing Clint playfully. “And maybe you can show me some bow and arrow tricks.”

“I’d love to,” Clint grinned, returning the elbow. “But can we find some ducks first?”

“Let’s go find some ducks.”


End file.
